From Fools To Kings
by tielan
Summary: The Drift changes everything. [Mako/Raleigh, missing scene]


**fools to kings **

Mako doesn't know how long they sit there, their hands close enough to feel, their trays pushed away behind them. Her sense of time is skewed, like a neural handshake that isn't quite in balance.

But then, she thinks, nothing has been quite the same since Raleigh Becket arrived in Hong Kong.

She glances over at him, finds his eyes already on her. Warm awareness fills her like tea poured out into a cup until it spills over to wet the white tablecloth, and he looks down and away while she stares at him, confused by the intensity of her reaction.

Her reaction? Or his?

Mako has read of the Drift hangover. She has lived in Shatterdomes all her life, she is aware of the range of reactions that co-pilots may go through post-Drift.

She has never felt it herself.

_Today the Drift was strong._

Are these feelings – this confused melange of physicality – hers or his? Is it she who wants to move her hand on top of his, or he who wants to move his hand on top of hers? Does it matter whose desire it is if both of them feel it?

Mako closes her eyes to shut out the bright glow of Gipsy's core. She takes a deep breath of old metal and burned steel, inhaling past the fire and the ozonic scent left by the plasma cannon's ignition, past the ache in her knuckles and fingers, until her lungs are filled full and she exhales.

Beside her, Raleigh does the same thing, attuned to her as she is attuned to him.

This is what Drifting is: the balance of minds in the physicality of the Jaeger. This is what _sensei_ used to do with Tamsin, and how Aleksis and Sasha

_The deeper you Drift, the better you will fight,_she recites from their Academy lessons.

_But they don't tell you what it feels like, do they?_

Her gaze meets his, startled. She heard him in her head. Heard him? Or felt him? Are they Drifting, without the PONS?

"It happens sometimes," he murmurs. "Transference."

Mako's hands twitch and her eyes are drawn down to his hands. She feels the bruised ache in her own knuckles – remnant of the fight with Chuck. "You didn't get them seen to?"

"I had worse working on the Wall." It's not a boast, just a simple statement. But when her fingertips brush over the grazes, they both wince at the sting.

"I have salve in my room."

The thought that flashes between them is his, the bright flush of cheeks hers. A slippery curl of desire uncoils itself in her belly even as his smile turns rueful and he swiftly says, "Not like that." _Not yet, anyway._

Mako blinks, wondering if he meant her to hear that.

"No," he says, rueful. "But I guess we're still Drifting a little. I won't—Mako, I would never do anything that you didn't want."

She never thought he would.

They take their trays back to the mess hall; she waits outside while he takes her tray in. People stare unabashed at her. She ignores them. He emerges with a smile and his hands tucked into his pockets. They amble towards their quarters in silence and with stares. And at her door, Raleigh looks both ways to check the hall is empty before he steps inside.

Amusement tickles her throat as she fishes through her drawers. "Your reputation is safe with me."

"Maybe I just don't want witnesses."

Mako smiles at the lightly teasing words as she uncaps the ointment and the astringent scent wafts through the room. She could let him apply the salve himself, but there is tactile pleasure in smoothing the pungent balm over the scuffed skin, her fingertips delicately exploring each joint on the big hands, the knuckles scraped and bruised.

Her own hands are lightly chapped as they move over his skin, the sure warmth of her fingers sensual on his hands. They'd be fire sliding down his chest as he panted, digging into his buttocks as she arched—

Her eyes fly open and she steps back. Raleigh winces from his perch on her stool and his hands twitch, regretful. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

He stops, blushing. Mako's own cheeks are hot, and warmth gathers in her belly, but it seems strange that a man with the experience of Raleigh Becket should be embarrassed.

"This matters to me," he says after a moment, quiet and earnest. "_You_ matter."

"Because of the Drift."

"That's where it starts, but this—Mako, it's more than that. For me, anyway."

She understands – or thinks she does. His memories flit through her head, the near-constant awareness of Yancy. With a Drift-compatible brother in his space, in his mind, by his side, Raleigh has craved physical contact, emotional intimacy for five years – and in those years since Onibaba, Mako has grown accustomed to solitude.

Raleigh stands, acceptance written on his face, even as all this flashes through her mind. He bends and his lips press to her temple. "I'll go," he murmurs. "It's okay, Mako."

Her hand touches his, still sticky from the ointment. "Stay." His breath catches in his chest, and her breath catches in hers. "Just to sleep," she qualifies with a soft laugh.

Tension holds his shoulders still, tension etches the lines around his mouth. "You sure?"

"It is what I usually do in bed."

His expression softens, and his hand folds over hers. "I shouldn't..."

"But you will." Mako swallows, even in her certainty. "I want this, too."

This thing between them may not be permitted long – _sensei_ needs a new co-pilot for him, and she is no longer acceptable. But she will take the memory of today and tonight with her – and so will he.

It is not wise, but then, Mako supposes, neither was putting them together in the Drift.

The Drift changes everything.

So she undresses without shame, although the self-consciousness remains as she pulls on her sleeping tee. And he sits on the edge of her bed in boxer shorts and watches her brush her teeth in the bathroom, with his hands curled on the edge of the mattress and the corners of his mouth tilted upwards.

It feels...new. And yet not-new, too. As though this is an old routine, worn in by time and familiarity. As though they've been doing this forever.

When Mako climbs into the sheets, however, she hesitates. He seems...bigger in the confines of the single bed, large and warm and very...male.

"You can rethink this if you want."

"No." It is simpler to reach up and draw him in, to settle his back against her front, flesh and muscle, skin and limb. He moves carefully, easing himself down, and taking her hand in his own to draw over his waist and press up against his chest, over his heart.

"おやすみなさい," he murmurs, and she exhales on a smile.

" おやすみ."


End file.
